, 1887-03-18


him, but did not die.
Even tonight, when just about to start
for a ball at the English ambassadors,
Ivan, brushing past the statue, pulled
aside the dark cloth and stuck his fore
finger into the little aristocratic place
nodded in the clay-and then with an oath
he drew it out, and, drenching his han in
eau de cologne, left the room quickly.
1t was a brilliant ball-this one to which
he went.
And he met her there.
When his restless, melancholy eyes fell
upon her face they became happy. When
his ironical lips spoke to her kisses seemed
to hover on their crimson fullness-and
when he felt the silken sweep of her robes
upon his sleeve his swarthy face became
pale.
Explain its
Well-shall we explain their immor-
tality,
He did not attempt even to explain it to
himself. He said simply: at is she; at
last: at last;'' and he was very content.
Nine. Roxandra Smirnoff was hardly
beautiful-nor yet very young, being per-
haps 30 and OF that extreme fairness which
conveys to the casual thinker the idea Of
q passionleSs and cOlorless nature.
Ali who knew better than Ivan An
saldi that 1t was the fire within her soul
that had burned the face, the lips, the
shoulders of Roxandra Smirnoff into such
a transparency Of whitenesss Who knew
better than he the pale gold Of her hair,
and the paler blue of her large eyes, hid a
volcano of sensitive feeling under their
fair EXTERIOR
Moreover, she was dressed in white,
with pearls and crystals and diamonds
sparkling on her bosom and the upper
parts of her arms-indeed, she looked like
an %icicle, as some one said.
Ivan heard them say it as they passed;
he smiled.
Madam, did you hear"
eyes" she answered.
"And'-
"Oh, to them, yes-'an icicle'-and one
that they could never melt-but what do
you think of mef"
s'Too much to dare to utter It,"
impossible"
81 assure you"-
"Will you then permit me to be your
interpreter Roxandra Smirnoff says,
with q little smile just breaking the frozen
pink arch of her mouth.
Ivan bowed, looking at her with that
comprehensive glance which a man never
gives to but one woman in his lifetime.
You are kind to permit itin The smile
breaks into a little low ripple of cool
laughter, more intoxicating to him who
listened than would ave been the most
luscious mirth of the reddest lips of his
own south land.
"Well-you think-here is n woman
who has been loved, as brothers, friends,
lovers love, by men of talent, strength
in brief, by men-and not to be loved in
some fashion is for her n new sensation,
from which she will not draw back-no-
rather will she extend to this novelty the
right han of welcome; she is charmed
with It'll That is what you say to your
self, Ivan Ansaldi, and you are correct. I
wish nothing so much us that you shall
like me-not more than that-with that l
nm content"
And | am not"
Nine. Smirnof shrugs her snowy
shoulders.
mo. Oh, by Heaveni' cries he under
his breath. "What n woman you are!'
What kind of woman, then, am II"
II do not know--I do not know-the
kind of woman that is at once a mans in
spiration and his despair-I can think OF
only two words of Dante's when I look at
you"
And those are,"
1.-THE eternal pearl"
Your Italian said it of the moon"
Eyes, and l borrow it for you-for,
should sin y you MS deep n red rs those
roses CONGRESSIONAL crime blacken you
as somberly as look our s~tarless nights
still you would to me shine forever white,
immaculate, spotless; you puzzle, you ir-
ritate, o entrance mel"
Roxandra Smirnoff shudders and ivan
stoops to gather her fur cape over her.
why did you think of that"
WHAT"
"Sin-and-crimesn
The music, n friends voice, these things
recall Iva to an ordinary view of the sit
uation.
"Ah," he says. You must pardon
me. To tell you the truth, l stumbled
over a mcmento of q friend of mine who
was murdered as l came out tonight, and
its influence must be haunting me-
"And should such mementos rise be
tween o N meS' she in n
voice whose melted musicalness was more
like perfume to his senses than sound"
Between u.s." ~corrects Ivan. mo
and yet, my countrymen are brutally SUI
perstitious, and I am one OF them"
"How?' she asks dazedly.
"Well," war Ansaldi leans over the
high back of Nine. Smirnoff's chair, his
arms folded, his eyes bent upon the fair
face upturned to question his.
well, we owe each other; that is the